


Red Din

by Peacekeeper_Revolvcr



Category: Overawatch, The Last of Us
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Drabble, Gen, Graphic Description, Jack Morrison | Freeform, Jesse McCree | Freeform, M/M, Mc76 | Freeform, Other, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Some Plot, Violence, Writer Integrity, Young Jesse McCree, Young Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, brief romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-21 23:30:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peacekeeper_Revolvcr/pseuds/Peacekeeper_Revolvcr
Summary: When you try to sell a secret, you often pay the price.When you try to hide a secret, you'll never tell it twice.There is little to offer in a world full of monsters and what people believe to be monsters. They give you a list of rules, hoping you memorize them, or that you're dumb enough to break them. And afterwords, you're no longer a problem. But the rules are there for a reason, they are meant to protect you. To protect others. And maybe keep things in line. But what was one rule broken to someone who didn't like rules to begin with.What if he was the broken rule, and you were meant to protect him.And what if he lied to you...And you still broke the rules.Was he still worth it?





	1. FREQUENCY

**Author's Note:**

  * For [galactiicace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/galactiicace/gifts).



It had been three months since they had seen a night without rain, and yet the air still felt like swimming in hot breath; choking out what little that Jack could muster in every huff of his lungs. He’d gone back and forth, tearing out of the sleeves of his jacket, adjusting the straps to his bag before catching the break of humidity into a chilling cold patch. Indiana had gone through the worst of the spring and was well on its way into summer, the land flooded and overgrown around the outer stretches of the compound. 

Water still dripped from the overhangs that shielded the chain link, a poor job at rust prevention but all the more reason to ward caution for the patrols that made their way around the southern riverline. Jack had been tasked with night duties, ones he hated but served their point as punishment for both a smart mouth and loose respect of authority. But regardless it often gave him time to think, stomping through the murky swamp the rain and heat made. The world had long since adapted to the calamity that came from the Infected, no longer news more than it was warning to foolish people that wandered without knowing the dangers. Since the old days, groups of the foolish like had popped up all over the place; hunters, who pillaged whatever the world could find them. Cannibals, that scavenged whoever was left. Zealots, more recent annoyances that stuck around to remind them of the plague that was to consume the god-fearing sinner types.   
Jack only heard about the military’s loose control some years back, militia was quickly overthrown in favour of free reigned factions, in favour of the people’s doing than what was particularly best for them. His boots cut through ribbons of grass and slosh across the water as he clear his way toward the first gate. It was always customary to check by each pillar, look for scuffs at the metal sheets propped against the door. Watch for muddy footsteps around the outside, listen for anything unusual. He kept all these thing in mind while half heartedly searching and quickly enough turned away to continue on through the woods.   
It only took an hour in for the entirety of him to be soaked through, his backpack weighed a solid ten pounds despite hardly anything in it, and the improperly holstered gun dragged his jeans down on his hips. His boots had long been caked over by layers of mud and silt, scraped free from his climb on top of abandoned car skeletons, and slicked across the metal sheets made for walkways. Part of the punishment was the shared half with Lewis on the back end of the patrol route. Which would only prove the headache once their paths crossed; the older, portly guy brimmed with dislike and scrutiny for anyone years younger than he was. 

By the time he reached the second post, Jack had already guessed there were four more points before the halfway mark. The damp air had clung to every inch of his skin, and fog wafted from the peaks of subtle lamp markers in the ground by the posts, lining the gate that separated him from the open fields and the forest. His eyes scanned the skylight, watching the dark rain clouds tumble angrily through the night; their heavy plumes laden with the threat of another rain in the coming day. His eyes searched for any sign of light, hoping to spot the next post within the thicket of trees and crumbled cinder blocks from a nearby desecrated building. He sighed, feeling the ache in his legs from the length of the walk; slinging the straps from his backpack off his shoulders and fishing out a small hand radio.   
“Morrison, here. I’m at point two, Lewis you see anything?” He muttered into the quiet, listening to the free static that blurred with the breeze, bending low to squat himself on a rusted car hood. He twisted at the dials, setting the frequency to the clearest signal but still heard nothing. “Ward, where are you? It’s dark as hell out here…”  
“Tell me about it, Morrison, now quit using up the radio and do your job.” A gruff voice croaked through the static, followed by sharp click of silence.   
“Hey Lewis—” Jack grumbled, thumb clicking against the intercom and released to the sound of static. “Yeah, fuck you too.” He shoved the radio back into his bag, carting his fingers through the mess of slick blonde hair and sighed, pushing from his seat on the rusted metal and continuing onward into the night. 

As the hours crept by and nightfall had grown thicker, the chill invited its way back into the air, dispersing the last of the heat and sent Jack into sneezing fits he stifled quickly into the bundle of his jacket. He patted himself dry of sweat and humidity before stuffing himself into the sleeves, and buttoning it closed to the neck. His hike was near another mile from the last point, where they would come across the halfway point and the grueling end to the night patrol. He yanked the small flashlight from his pocket, pumping the crank quick in his palm while he counted his paces toward the next post. His thumb clicked on the light, casting a bright beam through the tall grass and foliage before catching a reflection on the broken, faded highway sign that was propped against the fence. He shined the light over the weather worn paint, ‘ANTHEM’ illuminated beneath water stains. Jack clipped the flashlight onto his belt as he fished the radio out of his backpack and turned the dail.   
“Ward, I’m at the halfway, where are you?” Static chirped through the silence, Jack looking through the dark and let his eyes followed the remainder of the fence before it disappeared further into the trees and overgrowth. “Lewis, I’m serious, it’s getting cold out here.”  
“—roke through on the eighth post, it looks like the fence was bent. Start heading up this way, now.” Lewis cut through.   
“Wait, what was that? Something got in?”  
“I guess...Kennedy will wanna know.”  
“Alright, can we just..head back and let him know? I’ve been out here for four hours, and I’m ready to get this over with.”   
Static.  
“Lewis?”  
“Jack, there’s—”   
The radio cut off suddenly, static broken in between cracks of frequency until there was silence completely. “Shit.” Jack sighed, snatching his backpack from the mud and breaking into a sprint further down the path. His boots sloshed through the ankle high puddles, mud sucking at the soles as he sank in each step; his fingers carved into the grass and tree edges to yank himself free and further into the field that led to the central tower. On most nights the patrol would light the towers, signaling to others there was someone occupying the height, yet it was dark. Anxiety crept into his chest, the panic that it was just a sick joke Lewis was pulling rather than something had broken its way into the compound just at the end of the shift.   
He kicked through the water, climbing across the grass before yanking the flashlight from his pocket and aiming it out across the gate. “Lewis!” Jack screamed, scanning the fence line that was covered by the overhang of leaves; and spying the broken fold within the chainlink. Quickly he skirted toward the fence, looking to the hole that had tore its way through; haphazardly folded and the sheet metal that lined the inside dented from its uniform slats. He shined the light across the grass; seeing the collection of footprints that shifted across the mud before a smear broke the patchwork prints.   
A shrill gurgle broke through the darkness just a few feet away, masked by the shuffle of leaves that tore Jack from the hole in the fence. Carefully, Jack pulled the gun from his belt, unclipping the safety and cocking it with a swift pull. He began his walk, pocketing the light in his jacket as he crept toward the topple of fallen trees and underbrush, the muffled sounds of a struggle—realizing the coil of tension he had knotted in his throat.   
Jack crepted forward, hand firm on the grip before he ripped back the leaves and thrusted the gun forward; the flashlight free from his pocket and braced over his arm. His stomach dropped, as he caught sight of a mess of brown hair and the bloated corpse of Lewis clutched tight in the bloody arms of his killer.   
A boy held Lewis by the throat, his fingers tense in a white knuckle grip around the handle of a knife that was plunged several inches deep with in the fleshy side of his throat. Blood had slickened down the front of Lewis’ skewed shirt, stained across the tense fingers and mix with the fresh spatters that crossed his jaw in a spray. There was a slow release, much like a snake uninterested in it’s prey after a strike, pulling back the knife that expelled a fresh gout of blood across his hands and the rest spilling out onto the mud.   
Jack watched the shaken hands raise defensively, the knife dropped from his palms as he kept the wet strings of brown faced away. His approach was slow, the light shaken as he stepped around the body with a quiet swallow that carved down his throat. “Who the fuck are you?”   
The boy’s head rose just enough to move the wet hair that clung to his jaw, smears of red dribbled across his chin as his eyes frantically meet his. The light caught the fear in tawny brown eyes, and the hard frown that carved across his features; much like a deer in headlights, despite the gruesome kill he just witnessed. Jack toed forward, gun still focused before he stopped, thumb slowly drawing back the hammer.   
He flinched at the sound, his head dropping; the hot wash of shame striking his eyes from the searing light that focused hard and stunned him in silence.   
“Who are you? Not gonna ask again.” Jack threatened, swallowing back his claim.   
“ ‘M sorry...I didn’t mean—he…” Hands still shook at the sides of his head, nervously there for protection from what little they could of a gun. “He hit me—I was just tryin’ get through, I didn’t know this place was g-guarded. I thought it was abandoned. ‘M sorry.” His voice broke, shoulders twisting away from the light.   
Jack did his best not to look at the body, tangled and smothered in the mud; swallowing back his panic as he kept to his stance. “Gimme your name.”  
“McCree.” He answered obediently, face obscured by his hair. 

There was little way to explain this, and not in anyway that saw to this kid’s innocence against a compound of others who didn’t take kindly to outsiders. Which had peaked the curiosity of Jack immensely; just where did he come from?   
“...Okay, McCree...how did you get in here?”   
“There was a gap in the fence.”   
“So you just broke in?”  
“...Yeah.”  
Jack couldn’t argue with the logic, there wasn’t much around for miles and if he was running from something, the easiest place to disappear was over a fence. But it could only mean he might have brought something with him. Jack noticed McCree shaking, a strain in his posture as he saw the blood pool around the bottom peak of his hip and deep hole, hollowed just beneath the pocket of his jeans. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t covered in either mud or blood and it was getting harder to tell between what was his or Lewis’.   
“Look, I—god, I have to report this. You get what this means, right?”  
McCree was silent, shivering in place as he held his hands compliantly to his head; small clicks of teeth chattering while he fought through whatever agony he stood in.   
“Put your hands down kid, I’m not gonna shoot you.” Jack sighed, lowering the gun and tucking it back beneath the strap of his belt. He watched as McCree refused to move, though his arms slowly relaxed in their tension. There was a brief moment of hesitation as he stepped closer, his boot kicking away the knife and moved cautiously over Lewis’ body. On the ground were the scattered articles of Lewis’ supplies; the discarded gun and mud caked radio that had been waterlogged for the better half of the scuffle. Jack retrieved it from the water, testing the dials before shoving it into Lewis’ backpack and yanking it to his side.   
Fishing his own radio from the bag, he watched McCree’s arms tiredly give up, crossing over his chest as he shook even harder and eventually choke down a gulp as his dirty fingers pressed deep against his side; holding together more than just the tears of his punctured hip. Jack pressed his thumb into the com button of the radio, watching McCree slowly sink to the mud; deliberately doing his best to avoid his eyes.   
“Hey Kennedy...uh, I got a problem. You’re gonna need to come out here. And bring Fiona.”


	2. WAVE

It was the better part of an hour before they showed up, and Jack had to make quick work of the body; burning at the throat and skirting around McCree as he shakenly struggled to keep upright. 

He could see the bounce of small hip torches in the distance, and felt the rising stream of panic. There was little to piece together before the bright beam of a flash like struck on him. It felt like a heat lamp, his skin slick with sweat failing to comprehend what it was Kennedy was saying, but he looked worried. Fiona didn’t help, her reaction striking more fear upon seeing the body; partially burned at the throat and then the boy who kicked himself away with a painful flinch. 

Jack felt the eyes bare down on him, watching their lips move before he felt instinct take hold. “...It was infected…”

“Infected?”

“...We saw an infected kick down the gate, he—it was coming after this guy and Lewis-” The bile turned in his stomach, tension flexing in the muscles as he struggled to keep the lie from coming up. 

“Jack, who is this?” Kennedy breathed, eyes cautious as they watched Fiona inch closer toward McCree who was determined to make himself as small as possible.

“I-I don’t know he was running from the thing, and Lewis saw him—”

“So you let him in?”

“No! Lewis got attacked, and he...look, it was dark I couldn’t see what was going on, I just saw Lewis drop…a-and I panicked—” Why the hell am I doing this, Jack sighed, fingers carding through his hair with another earnest look to the man who damn near saved his life seven times over. He did have any reason to lie. He could be making the biggest mistake, letting in a stranger. Letting in a killer.

“Kennedy! The kid’s been shot!” Fiona cut through the dark, her hands already working to hoist him up from the muck. 

Jack watched the firm glare of Kennedy’s compassion bare down on him, a thinly worn patience sequestered by the nature of protection as he sighed and yanked Jack onward by the shoulder. “We will settle this in the morning. If you let an infected in here, we’re gonna have words. We’ll send someone to bring in Lewis tomorrow, you’re not off the hook.” 

There was no argument, Jack didn’t have anything to argue about much less did he want to. The guilt curled up in the corner of his throat, quiet and content as he followed silent behind Kennedy. Fiona hoisted the boy into her arms, a hiss cut through his teeth at the pressure; her voice gentle in the dark as she whispered soft comfort and assuring affections. 

Jack followed Kennedy’s shoulders through the marsh, their silent walk orchestrated by rolls of distant thunder. And the soft rain that soon followed.    
  


 

Fiona exited the room, blood on her skinny fingers as she kicked passed Jack and ran them beneath faucet. Jack had been staring into the empty space of the cracked wall, listening to the muffled screams of pain and anguish while she worked and knew he wasn’t going to be getting much sleep tonight. 

“He okay?” He chimed, nervously chewing at his lip, chin rested against his scraped knuckles. 

Fiona grunted, smearing her wet hands across her dusted jeans and pushed a hand through strands of long greasy, blond hair. She looked tired. It had been a grueling three hours, and the two of them couldn’t bare much more of the tension that lingered in the atmosphere. “He’s been walking on that for three days. It clipped across the bone, it’s amazing he wasn’t already dead from the amount of blood. Much less an infection.” She yanked the rubber band from her wrist by her teeth, swiftly drawing up her waist long hair into a messy ponytail before she leaned tiredly against the sink basin. 

“He’ll be out for a few days, but...we had to drain out a lot of the blood and tend to the swelling. He looks like he escaped a bulldozer with a gun.” She mumbled, teeth pinching hard at her lip before she met with Jack’s intense gaze. “Jack what happened out there...What happened to Lewis? We don’t just lose people like that, did you really see a—”  
“Yes.” Jack huffed, eyes downcast as he leaned into his knees and looked toward the door. “I-I didn’t see what happened to Lewis, a-and when I got there, _he_ wouldn’t talk. He looked scared and told me to help him, that’s all I know.” 

Fiona watches him a moment, her breaths small before a deep one crumbled from her chest and stirred a yawn that followed.  “Alright, I...I don’t know how long it’ll take him to heal from this. It took damn near all the stitching and staples we have, and I don’t know if we have time to look for more. We’ve got a few things to help with the pain, but...he lost a lot of blood. He fainted just after we got the bullet out.”

Jack groaned, head dropping into his hands as he twisted his fingers against the exhaustion in his eyes. The guilt pressed firm against his throat, almost choking through the breathes as he stared at the ground and just noticed the stains of red on his boots. 

“Okay, thanks Fi. Just...let me know when he wakes up? Please?” Jack rose to his feet, shoulders creaking as he pushed through the stress tangled up in his neck; shuffling himself for the door. 

“Sure thing, Jack. I’ll send him your way. You have a goodnight.” She said quietly, her eyes lost in thought through the haze of fatigue. Fiona saw him leave before she pushed herself from the basin, and kneeled to grab a few tape marked bottles from the shelves. 

                                                                                        —————

 

He was barely awake, taking deep shallow breaths while sweat curled down the side of his eye; stinging from the salt and dirt. From what McCree could remember, he had been in and out several times through the night. Blindsighted by the pain, the exhaustion that came from gritting his teeth and screaming, the rise and fall of his rapid breaths he became more aware of in wakefulness; everything felt exhausting. 

McCree’s eyes strained under the lamplight that hung over head, shaky fingers reaching for his face before dropping numb at his side. He heard the sound of footfalls enter the room before seeing the tall blond doctor walk with a few bottles tucked in her arm and a tin cup in the other. 

“Hey there, kiddo...It’s alright, just the two of us.” Fiona sets the bottles down and pulls the rolling stool beneath her at his side, a warm tired smile extended from the gentle professionalism; hands working to pour water into the tin cup, measured with a careful syrup from one of the labeled bottles. “I need you to sit up just a second for me, alright? Drink this down and then I’ll let you get some sleep. Sound good?” 

With some struggle, she helped prop McCree forward from putting pressure on his newly sutured hip; teeth clicking painfully as he felt the scream of his limbs protesting against the move. She pushed the cup into his hands, urging him quick to sip.

There was a slow pull of the water, his tongue touching the metallic bitter and nearly choking until he felt her fingers tap the edge of the cup to keep it lifted. He coughed, drinking down the last of the mixture before he yanked the cup away and smeared his lips distastefully across his sleeve, groaning into his arm.

A sympathetic smile came over Fiona, nodding as she pat a hand on his ankle. “Yeah, I know. Stuff’s awful but it’ll help the pain in the long run, plus it’ll put you to sleep.” She was quiet a moment, watching him intently with sharp green eyes and took the cup from his side. “What happened to you?” Her eyes dropped to his sides, looking carefully at the blots of mottled bruising around his wrists, painful and purple. His hands weren’t in better shape, cuts and scars littered across his fingers; hatched across his arms and even further, a long white line traced across his throat in near fatal scar.

McCree shrank quietly into himself, scooting millimeters as he did his best to hide himself from her gaze. 

“You don’t gotta tell me if you don’t want to, I understand. I’ll do my best to make sure you’re taken care of and nobody gives you a hard time. Jack will look out for you too, he’s a good guy.”

McCree nodded, rubbing at his wrist as he swallow back his silence and reclined back against the bed. 

Fiona sensed the trepidation and stood from the stool, reaching on the shelf behind her for one of the folded blankets tucked away on the shelf. “Here, sleep as long as you need to. It’ll be a couple of days until I can let you leave so we can make sure you heal up. But I’ll do my best to make it painless. Goodnight okay, I’ll be in the other room outside the hall.” She brushed her fingers through his hair, helping as she unfolded the blanket and draped it across his legs. McCree tugged the blanket over his shoulders, being careful to push onto his uninjured side and curl himself into the stiff cot.

Her footsteps faded from the room, the dim hum of the lamp whirred quietly overhead and lulled him into a restless sleep.

  
  


It took four days. 

A painful four, but it enough time for McCree to stand solidly on both feet and keep enough food down without making himself sick. In that time, Jack worried over the events of what could possibly come from their recent addition. Jack was pulled from outer limit patrol, Kennedy thought it was enough of a punishment to push him on late night duties, but to also deal with a death. There was little questioning into the validity of Jack’s lie, and from result, there were a lot more posted patrols by more experienced members of the community. 

And Kennedy thought it better Jack stick to babysitting than becoming a greater liability.

Fiona was reluctant to release him, having grown a little fond of the boy in the days spent taking care of him but she entrusted his care to Jack when he was able to withstand walking.   
He was skinnier than he initially thought, he could tell from the cut loops in the belt, he could hardly fit in the clothes loaned to him and what little food he could keep down wasn’t nearly enough to keep him healthy. His shirt draped across his chest, the sleeves rolled across spindly arms lined with scars and taut with muscle. His hair was a soft feathered brown, that fell just past his chin before he tied it back; fingers combing sharply through the mess of flyaways and twisted across his fingers into a ponytail. 

It was hard to imagine such a scrawny kid had killed a man nearly a foot taller than he was only but a few days ago. Jack knew nothing than a name, and all the more it made him curious. He watched him sulk forward, a slight limp in his step as Jack walked in to greet him. 

“Hey, how you holdin’ up?”

“Fine.” He mumbled, pushing his hands into his pockets. Jack waited for anything else, the pair standing in awkward proximities of one another before he sighed. 

“So...Kennedy told me to keep an eye on you since...the other night. For the most part we’re in the clear, he thinks eventually we can get you set up around here once some of the heat dies off. But uh...I’ll show you around Anthem for a bit and then we can head to where you’ll stay. Sound good?”

He nodded, “Lead the way.” 

Jack was quick to pivot, pushing onward before him as the two departed from the main commons of the city and walked out into the neighbourhood. Anthem consisted of a few houses, and some makeshift shelters in old storefronts—at least of the ones untouched by weather wear or collapse. They had only been a group of at least thirty people within the past four years, and McCree had balanced into their finely kept niche. 

The weather was hot and muggy, the overcast leaving much of the time spent outdoors undesirable but it didn’t keep families from tending to the work and the few children from running about the center field. They were lucky enough to keep themselves occupied while those abled enough had been stationed along the main points of theoutskirts, doing their rounds for the day. 

Jack pulled away from the dirty paths toward the heavier forested buildings, McCree silently following behind as they pressed on past the forest line and into the trees. There was a large thicket that surrounded the back half of Anthem, often off limits but Jack had traveled through them frequent enough to form most of the old corded path that lead onward up a small, shallow hillside. 

“Don’t ever come out this way unless you’re with me, got it? Kennedy would flip if he knew I kept comin’ back here.” 

“Then why do you?” McCree asked, eyes to his boots as he followed. 

Jack scoffed, “Cause it’s a nice place to think sometimes. There’s a halfway line in here anyway, it’s been gated for years. It’s not like anything can come through. Plus, It’s only a short walk from town and I corded the path a few months back.” He veered off from their walk and toed a thick nylon cord that wrapped around the base of a tree, bright strands of white and red lining suspended a few inches from the base. “What can I say, I like a good view.” 

McCree frowned, looking at the cord and noticing the bouncing path it led through the small gaps between the trees, darting off to the left and ended with small painted wooden stakes around a rock fixture that blended in with the in with the crumbling of rotten wood and broken tree. Jack kicked a foot over the the rock; moving hefty sheet of metal aside to reveal a break in the rock where bits of dust and concrete poured in with light streaming from behind it. 

“This way.” He offered, crawling behind the metal and into the opening. 

Following behind, McCree winced from the bend; feeling the ache in his waist as he slowly inched his way beneath the overhang of leaves and twisted vines to emerge on the other side of a small rock shelf. The shelf extended another thirty feet before it dropped, toppled slabs of asphalt and broken beam exposure displayed on its side and empty shells of rusted car frames wove a messy collapse around the massive water filled trench. 

“This used to be a bridge…” McCree marveled, his eyes taking in the canopy of green that swallowed whatever it had managed to adhere itself to. 

Jack hopped himself up onto one of the cars, the stamps of his footfalls echoing across the enclosure and nearly startling a choked breath from McCree, who shot him a glare. “Sorry—but, yeah, this was apart of an old overpass. It grew over a while ago, and since, it’s sort of made a natural lake from the sinkhole.” He scooped up some cracked pieces of rock, tossing the larger chunks in his hands before he plucked one from his palm and pitched it over the edge. The rock sailed into the light, over the jagged edge of the road into the silent abyss that echoed a small and distant splash. 

“We used to take the rainwater from here before Kennedy sealed it up. He got worried the younger kids would crawl back here without anyone lookin’ after them, so he covered it up.” He pitched another rock over the edge, hearing it crack across the asphalt before it went skittering over the edge. McCree watched quietly to the mechanical motion of each throw, his arm extending back and snap forward with a firm flex; each throw less forceful than the last. 

McCree quietly walked around the rubble, following the patches of grass that burst through the asphalt and watches the blots of light that broke through the overcast into the hollow. He could smell the breeze of stagnant rain water and mud that was almost bearable since he arrived. The last few days had been blurs of restlessness and long dark periods of sleep. His mind still felt foggy, anxiety riddled in his bones and itched between his shoulders as he sat himself on a slanted crag leading toward the middle of the break. 

“You come here a lot?” McCree asked, a small wince as he sat, a knee drawn up to his chest as he twisted to watch Jack scour for more rocks. 

“Not much, just when I want a break from people. Been kind of a rough few days since Lewis—” He stopped, his eyes meeting McCree who very quickly looked away. “Been mostly trying to talk to them about keeping you around.” 

“Why?”

Jack curled his fingers around the rocks in his hand, squeezing them tight enough to feel the edges prodding in his skin. He’d been asking himself this for days. 

_ Why did I lie for you? _

He didn’t know why. 

Nothing could explain why he did, and every possible answer felt more like a lie than how he really felt.

       “Dunno, just...thought you could use a place to stay.”

       McCree said nothing, turning away to the open chasm and the other desolate half of the bridge that lingered on the other side. He hadn’t thought of staying. It wasn’t in the forefront of his mind, though he wasn’t any more sure of how he was planning to leave. He didn’t know where to go, he hardly knew where he was and if his last stint of running taught him anything, it was that he couldn’t run forever. Eventually they’d find him. Eventually  _ someone  _ would kill him.

       He jumped at the crack across the asphalt, another rock spinning wildly across the road and into the grass just before the edge. Their uneasy silence made him nervous, fearful of what to ask and how the other felt. The protectiveness confused him, it felt motivated by some strange charge that he would owe him. It influenced more of the caution and the mistrust. And yet, he couldn’t fault him completely. He still breathed thanks to his lie, and in the passing days McCree had only looked more ungrateful to have gone without thanking him. His fingers twisted thoughtfully through the knot of his ponytail, pulling the twist of dark hair from the messy tie.

Jack dropped himself from the hood of the car, the rocks all expended from his hand and over the edge of the bridge, and began shuffling around to find himself another handful to kill time with. His eyes paused, catching McCree sat by himself under the scant bits of sunlight while his fingers threaded through waves of dark hair; slender fingers combing it out and twisting the strands into small, loose braids. As he tore himself away, his eyes kept drawing back, watching him closely in the intimate ritual by kept to himself. 

There was something in the small act that held him there, eyes studying the creases of his fingers; sliced and licked with white linesm and torn skin. His hair brushed the peaks of his shoulders, dappled with warm honey browns that seemed soft and golden  in the daylight. He twisted each braid with careful thoughtfulness, collecting the small bundle with other coils of wild hair and twisted them back together across his fingers and into a neater made hold. 

Jack felt his throat squeeze gently, wondering why the guilt teased him with the hesitant shyness that welled in his chest. Something so simple...made him feel invasive, when he hadn’t meant to be at all. 

  
  


The rain had poured from the north, and seemed eager to stay over the course of the night. It took the boys longer than expected to make the return to their room,from long discussions with Kennedy on the rules and expectations. Kennedy insisted on Jack watching over McCree, considering the two were under the watchful eye of the community for the actions that transpired as well as being an obvious addition. Jack had hoped the argue against the rigor of his duties but thought better of it. There would be more times to argue. 

He led McCree into the plaster broken bedroom down the hall of the renovated living quarters, tossing his backpack down by the opposing bed beside the wall. 

“You can have that one...Fiona made sure it was clean, she got a bag settled for you, said we could get you some clothes and stuff within the week.” 

McCree nodded humbly, wiping sweat and rain water from his face as he gingerly stepped toward the bed and sat himself down.   
“Thanks.” He whispered, doeful eyes watching Jack habituate himself in the space he felt an outsider to. 

“Sure thing,” Jack answered absently, emptying the contents of his bag and sifting through its remains. 

“Can—Can I ask you somethin’?”

Jack held the waterlogged radio in his hand, switching on the dial to which it weakly hummed a warped and guttural peal of static. His thumb wore away some of the crusted blood from the dial. 

“Sure.”  

“Why’d you lie for me?”

McCree thought maybe a second time would warrant an easy answer, less atmosphere to distance them and no rocks to pitch over edges to avoid answers. But even still, Jack was reluctant with honesty. 

“Thought it was the right thing to do.”

“But you saw what I did—”  
“Yeah... _shit happens_. You were trying to defend yourself, and knowing Lewis he probably would’ve shot you before I got there to keep him from doin’ it. I’ve been on the shit end of things too, alright. People aren’t usually too picky whether or not they make it.”

There was a growl in McCree’s throat he thought was silent, but he didn’t bother to correct himself. His hips ached more than his legs, and the frustration of what to do left him eager to drop against the bed the longer he sat on it. He kicked off his dirty sneakers, unfurling the sleeves of his shirt and smoothed them out as he curled himself into a tight ball against the sheets, arms instinctively unwinding from his chest to clutch tight against the pillow. 

“Thanks.” He whispered quietly to the wall, hoping his attitude didn’t discourage his sincerity. He meant it. 

And somehow Jack understood.   
Jack collected all the things over the bedspread, and shoved the gun into the bedside table drawer.

“Don’t mention it.” 

 

 _The air was brisk and smelled like gunsmoke._ _  
__All the young boy could remember was the_ _  
__copper taste of blood in his mouth, and her_ _  
__weight on his chest. He struggled beneath_ _  
__collapse of her lungs, ripples of air fluttering_ _  
__in her chest while blood spilled into the grass._ _  
__He fought the urge to cry, to whimper, struggling_ _  
__to tear himself from underneath her in hopes that_ _  
__he could do anything to stop her suffering. But she_ _  
__grasped him with her strength, fingers tighten_ _  
__into his arm as she cradles him into her chest,_ _  
__and quietly whispers against his forehead._ _  
___“Don’t. Move.”

 

McCree tore himself from the bedsheets with a scream, the fear stifled in his lungs as he fought to tear the weight of the blanket from his chest. He sucked in lungfuls of air while the cold, damp sweat had him stuck to his clothes; peeling himself away from the sheets and the blankets as he struggled to gather his bearings. He didn’t feel the wet streaks of tears down his cheeks, eyes search desperately through the darkness for anything to hold onto. 

“Woah, woah, woah!”

He nearly fought at the hands that pressed against his shoulders, wildly pushing himself away before seeing the frantic concern of Jack’s face masked by the moonlight. Jack’s hands held firm onto McCree’s shoulders, pinning him back against the wall while his eyes searched his panic for answer. 

“Hey, hey, take it easy alright! It’s okay, everything’s okay, McCree!” He urged, hands reaching to pat his cheek. “It’s okay...I’m here. Nothin’s gonna get you.” 

McCree panted through the fear, his legs numb while his hands frantically shook to grasp ahold of Jack’s wrists; hoping to feel anything. Warmth. Security. Comfort. He choked down the anguish, his head falling between the quiet sobs as he felt himself wither under the oppressive lingering nightmare; a whimper of penitent apologies he wept against Jack’s chest. 

**Author's Note:**

> So like me, I'm sure any of you saw E3 and probably cried at the intensity that came with the new TLOU trailer, cause I sure fucking did. And I was struck with some brilliant inspiration for quite literally a spur of the moment piece I wanted between these two. 
> 
> Galatiic and I are the worst when it comes to encouraging ideas out of our threads, and since we had previously a TLOU verse before, these moments definitely made me want to revisit them. I don't exactly know where I'm going with this fic, I've got ideas and basic track I might keep but if there's interest in some development, the next chapter will be enjoyable. But for now, indulge me in some artistic indulgences I have for this ship. Mc76 can definitely use some varied content around here.


End file.
